


Of Love and Turtles

by Xion_Praeten



Category: Godsfall, Godsfall Podcast D&D Campaign
Genre: D&D, Dungeons and Dragons, Fantasy, Gay, Gay Male Character, Godsfall - Freeform, GodsfallDC, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10069805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xion_Praeten/pseuds/Xion_Praeten
Summary: This is the prologue and first two chapters of, "Of Love and Turtles." This is part of an upcoming Bonus Episode of the Godsfall podcast that I wrote and voice-act in following the success of our Kickstarter. To listen to the full episode, check back with godsfall.com, iTunes (searching "godsfall"), or wherever you get your podcasts (as of this follow up post adding the first two chapters on October 25, 2017, the "Of Love and Turtles" audio drama hasn't been released yet, but you should check out the Godsfall podcast to get caught up to at least Turtlefest for the following story to make any sense). Also, check out our Twitter, Tumblr and Facebook accounts @GodsfallDC.This is the tale of when Xion and Pera first start their romantic relationship at "Turtlefest." Up until this point, Xion was largely antagonistic to Pera, but he starts to see him very differently.





	1. Chapter 1

**OF LOVE AND TURTLES**

by Michael Key  
edited by Michael Lyons

Adapted from an original story by Aram Vartian, Doug Horn, Steven Hardos, Michael Key and Kay.

\- - - -  
PROLOGUE

The morning sun blazes through the translucent curtains of my room in the Shellback Inn, illuminating motes of dust I watch dance through the air from my bed. I can't remember the last time I slept in an actual bed... a real bed, not the thick stone slabs in Kadar with little more than a threadbare sheet for warmth, not the open-air hastily-constructed gnarled hammocks of the wood elves, but a real bed. I could get used to this.

I turn over, away from the blinding light, and there he is; my traveling companion, Pera, sleeping off a night of heavy drinking in the bed next to mine. As a warm breeze drifts through the window lifting the curtains, the sun falls onto Pera's face, alighting him like a hearth fire in the darkened room, kissing his brown skin and silky locks of black hair.

From the moment Pera had bravely saved my life, I began to see him differently. I didn't expect a week ago that I would be making a study of his sleeping face, mapping each freckle and memorizing every lash.

Only days ago, Pera and I stood faces-to-skull with a reanimated corpse in the Temple of Orrum and I faltered. I will never forget the smell of the fetid, burning embers of a calcified horror that Pera held at bay with his power over fire. If it weren't for Pera fighting back, unarmed and with his very clothes already burned to ash, I would have been skewered by the walking abomination. My last sight would have been the dull green glow of the orbs that once held eyes of the undead skeleton. Instead, I am laying safely in bed, watching the gentle heave of Pera's breast, listening to the quiet symphony of his breath. I had misjudged Pera.

Only two days have passed since my friends and I survived the deadly mysteries of the wretched temple. Even as the thick stone doors of the temple slammed together in a final meeting, we were surrounded by purse-lipped and leery elves who called the Ironwood home. The elves wasted no time drawing their bows upon us, demanding that we leave.

I was actually happy when the angry wood elves escorted us out of the wilderness and back onto the human road leading to Turtle Bay. I had enough wet mud in my shoes. My body was slick with the sticky moisture of sap, sweat and dew. My throat was course with the pollen of a thousand exotically toxic plants.

Maybe things would go better for us at "Turtlefest" in Turtle Bay. Tales of games, prizes, dancing and feasts were enticing, but the very prospect of laying in a hot bath with steam clearing my throat and sleeping in a plush, inviting bed had become irresistible. For the first time in a long time, my friends and I weren't being pursued. We could just be care-free teenagers. Maybe we could pretend for just a few days that a whole nation wasn't hunting us.

I watched Pera's hand in the Ironwood the other day, wondering if my hand would fit nicely in it. How could I ever not have noticed him? How could I ever not be intoxicated by his smile?

I know the answer, and it slices through me like a jagged spear at my belly. All of these thoughts are against my training. And my training has made me say and do things I regret.

Had I treated Pera badly? Yes. I was trained to find weakness in sentimentality. I was trained to find grief as weakness. Pera had both of these. Am I failing my training? Absolutely.

I was brought up in the Southern Shield in Kadar. Even as a fourth son, I knew of my place. I was to have an arranged marriage, as two of my three brothers before me. We are the direct descendants of the founder of the Antitheot religion. There can be no deviation: we are to marry a woman of appropriate character who will bear children with the Preaten name. That was to be my destiny and my poor future wife's sentence. Circumstance saved us both from that. It's not that my people are against two men or two women discretely being together, but one is expected to do one's duty and it is seen as selfish for one to not pass on one's name: especially a name like Praeten.

It doesn't matter now, I would be thoroughly disowned if ever found by my family: not for thinking Pera is cute, but for a far graver infraction. The gravest. I am Awakened. That's what I heard an elf call it. I don't know quite what that means or what I am yet, but I do know I have powers that grow by the day. So too do the powers of all of my new friends: the human farmer Pera, the imperious high elf noble Phryane, the perpetually drunk dwarf Torrvic and the halfling street urchin Dorro. In my society if one is even found hiding an unauthorized magical item (and almost all magical items are unauthorized in Kadar), that person is publicly executed to the gleeful cheers of the condemned's erstwhile neighbors.

Imagine what my people would do to me or my friends! They don't even have a punishment for an infraction of this scale. I don't just have a magical item: I am magic. I can take some comfort in knowing that Pera can't be burned at the stake. That's my father's favorite sentence to prescribe. I was forced to watch several public executions in my youth: it was expected of a son of the spiritual leader of the Highlands of Kadar to be in attendance.

Pera can control fire, which is dangerous and the most powerful of any of us. Phryane can control fire to a lesser extent, as well as cast many spells. I just like listening to her voice, it seems magical too. Dorro can disappear and reappear in another spot at will. Torrvic can sooth wild animals and is handy with a war hammer. And I . . . I'm not entirely sure what I can do. I can cast a few spells just as the sorcerers of old, but there is something else there too that I don't quite understand. But we all seem to get more and more powerful each day.

So here I lay on a downy bed, free from the strictures of my old society. I am free to question my father's beliefs. I am free to stare at a beautiful guy and wonder if he might feel the same for me as I do for him.

Pera was very affectionate last night at the State Dinner, but it may have just been the alcohol. Pera is a lightweight. I probably am too, but I've never tried drinking. There are some Antitheos of Man beliefs that I still agree with: not drinking alcohol is one of them. Drinking makes people sloppy. When one is being pursued by many forces, one can't afford to get sloppy.

On the upside, drunk Pera kept putting his arm around me at the dinner. I enjoyed it, even though it might have been just to keep his balance and stand. I could feel the heat of his skin on me. Pera is warmer than most. It might be because he is a pyrokinetic, or maybe he just runs hot. Either way, it was a wonderful sensation.

It is decided, I'll have to find out more of Pera and what he thinks of me, but I... am going to allow myself to feel!


	2. The Great Turtle Race

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xion and Pera join with their friends in the Great Turtle Race during Turtlefest 98. Spoiler alert: they don't win.

Pera wakes up and I'm just staring at him. Even though I'm embarrassed he's gracious about it.

"Hey, buddy," Pera says, stretching his arms into the air before rubbing his eyes. I like it when he called me buddy. "I feel like Torrvic hit me in the head with his war hammer."

"Well, you did have a lot to drink last night," I say, laughing. "I had to help you into bed."

"Well, it's Turtlefest! We've been through a lot, it was nice to just let go," he retorts.

Pera and I are clearly very different people. I would never want to "let go:" the mere prospect terrifies me. But he looks so cute, I find it difficult to muster anything but a smile.

Pera looks around. Seeing only me, he asks, "Where is everyone?"

"Well, Torrvic never came back to the inn last night," I respond. "I assume he just passed out drunk in a ditch somewhere. It wouldn't have been the first time."

Pera laughs. I adore the melody of his laughter.

Torrvic had gone off late in the evening with Princess Sirena to a less-stuffy party, but I was too busy "Pera-sitting" my stumbling crush to follow them. I don't tell Pera this, as I don't want to embarrass him. 

Also, I didn't mind helping Pera last night as he leaned on me to get him from the Turtlefest party to our room. I found it actually pretty sweet as I placed him down on his bed and he said, "Thannnnnks. You are my besssst friend, you know."

Pera gets out of bed and lumbers to the washing bowl. He splashes some of the tepid water on his face and makes a satisfied "mmmm" sound.

"What about Dorro?" Pera asks me.

"Well," I respond, eyebrow arched. "Dorro came in late and seemed lost in thought last night. So much so, he didn't even answer me when I asked him what was wrong. He got up about a half hour ago and went downstairs for some food. He hasn't said a word to me. I hope he's not mad at me. I haven't said anything mean to him." 

"You would never say anything mean to him," Pera says, smiling. Pera's teeth are white and straight: something not expected of Wesselian farmers. He must take very good care of himself.

"And 'Her Majesty?'" Pera draws out "majesty" mockingly, obviously referring to Phryane. Phryane has been rather horrid to Pera from the start. At first, I piled on whenever Phryane would mock Pera, wanting to please Phryane for a reason I couldn't quite put my finger on. I resolve to stop that. Pera is a great guy. Whether or not he likes me back, I'm not going to make fun of him ever again. He saved my life!

"Pryane has her own quarters," I respond. "She is likely being attended to by numerous servants. She plays at bucking at the reigns of nobility, but she doesn't fool me. She was too much in her element when chatting with "Uncle Jacob," you know, the actual GOD KING last night to leave that life for too long. I suspect our days of traipsing through the woods are coming to an end."

"What do you mean?" asks Pera. He clearly doesn't know who Phryane is, but I do.

"Pera, Phryane is a good person to know," I start. "I will need friends like her to protect me from the wrath of Kadar. It's good for you to know her too. She is Anian nobility. And she's like us. She will likely be embraced by her connected family, even as mine will reject me."

"So what is her family?" Pera asks. "What is yours? You both act so high and mighty with your big words and high-held heads."

He is trying to act lightly. Though a light ribbing, that comment stings a little. I realize that I have treated Pera exactly as I was expected. He is a peasant farmer from Wessel and I am the son of an Antitheot leader. Yet, I am no better than him. I, like Phryane, have received an excellent education. That is all. Perhaps magic could be a great equalizer. I nervously fidget, but decide to focus on answering Pera's question.

"I know of Phryane's family, the House of Tinueth," I say. "As she knows of mine, the House of Praeten. My uncle is the Speaker of Kadar. He is the head of the Kadarian delegation in Ani. He is a dour man that I have never liked, what little I have seen of him."

"Phryane's mother is the Speaker of Ani and her father is the Rylendic Ambassador to Ani," I continue. "It is a rather small world among the ruling class."

I am immediately embarrassed. I just called my family the ruling class and this guy that I really like right in front of me has worked his whole life on land that is owned by people just like my cruel father.

"Of course, my days of having family connections are over," I quickly stammer. "Hopefully, they all just think I'm dead."

"That's awful," Pera starts. The tremor in his voice tells me I've said the wrong thing again. "Losing family is awful . . ."

As Pera trails off, I realize my mistake. Pera just lost a brother. I bow my head, ashamed. 

"I'm sorry . . ." I say.

"It's not your fault," he continues after a moment of silence.

I want so badly to hold him: to love the sadness out of him. But I know that isn't possible. No amount of affection could do that, and we haven't ever really embraced. We sit silently for a few moments.

Dorro opens the door to our room, food in his mouth, Oliver the turtle in his hands. "Hurlllllo," Dorro mumbles, through the bread in his mouth.

"Hi Dorro," Pera says, emotionlessly. "We were just getting ready for the day."

Dorro sets down Oliver and feeds the scrappy turtle blue trechenroot and shredded carrots. He then meticulously gets his equipment prepared. He hides his contraband dagger in his performance pants and fills his trench coat's numerous pockets with sundries that he thinks might help him.

Pera and I wash and prepare for the day. We put on our new, clean clothes. I like that Pera is more hygienic than Dorro or Torrvic. I like to be clean, but the last few days had made that impossible. It's nice to be fresh for the day. 

I love the smell of my freshly-starched shirt. The scent is pleasant with a faint whiff of lavender. I hope Pera likes the way I smell. I love the way he smells. Pera, even when he's been working hard, smells like heat, strength and pomegranates.

Torrvic stumbles in, getting started with a fresh ale from downstairs. Clearly, the plan for him is day-drinking. I keep my opinions to myself. Torrvic has a problem, but to be honest, at least when he's drunk he's not a total jerk. 

"Hey, Buddies! How was the night?" Torrvic asks no one in particular.

No one answers, but everyone shakes their head in agreement to nothing in particular.

Mid-morning, giant trumpets blast a cacophony of sound that echoes through Turtle Bay as Pera and I are finishing our breakfast plums. I wash my hands in the room's washbowl and look up, "All right Pera. Let's go see what's going on. Does anyone else want to come?"

Sounding more chipper than he had last night, Dorro says, "Ahhh, that would be me!!" 

I'm glad that Dorro sounds better, but really want to go just with Pera. Torrvic, Dorro (with Oliver the turtle in his hands), Pera and I walk out of the inn to the town square. Phryane is already there overseeing the festivities in her capacity as a visiting Anian noble.

The mayor of Turtle Bay stands on a platform and seems to smile with his words: "Gentlemen and Ladies! Welcome to Turtlefest!" He has a mildly humorous way of speaking, emphasizing each "T."

The crowd cheers as the mayor holds up a giant tortoise.

"Shell-y Shell-y Shell-y," the gathered villagers shout. Pera laughs at that, which reminds me of just how different we are. I think it rather low-brow to name a town mascot so on-the-nose, but not wanting to upset my crush, I laugh along with him.

"Don't worry Oliver," I mock-whisper to Dorro's entry in the Best Turtle Contest, as I point to Shelly. "One day that'll be you." This gets a nice laugh from Dorro and Pera, which was my objective.

Things get a little boring after that, to be honest. Watching a turtle sit in one spot for 10 minutes is about as fun as it sounds. But the gathered attendees are very into it. Apparently, whole livelihoods are on the line as whatever food "Shelly" eats first is declared the bumper crop of the year. I come to realize in that moment that I'm too highly educated to ever be content living as a peasant. As Pera's looking so cute, yet so excited about this ridiculous display, I realize a relationship between us, even if Pera likes me back, will be a lot of work.

Still, I'm up for it. I didn't pay attention as to which crop was Shelly's preferred meal, as I am too excited for the upcoming "turtle race." The turtle race is another opportunity to get physically close to Pera. We might not win the race, but that's not my goal.

"And now, Ladies and Gentlemen," the mayor loudly starts. "Welcome to the Great Turtle Race!" the mayor proclaims. "Teams of two line up at the rope. One of you, get on your partner's back and ride them to the end of the town square. Once there, the turtleback becomes the turtle-front. That's right friends, switch it up and run back to the beginning. Defend yourselves, because this gets pretty heated. If you fall, you're out. Of course, no weapons are allowed in Turtle Bay during Turtlefest, so trying any of that nasty business will get you in more trouble than just being disqualified. Hands and feet are fair game."

"Well, why don't we give it a try, Pera," I say, putting my arm around Pera's shoulders. He is so warm.

"Really?" he says, almost surprised that I would ask.

"Well if you want to," I say, just barely on the respectable side of pleading.

"Okay," Pera motions. "Hop on."

I'm surprised by how strong Pera is as he pulls me up on his muscular back. I guess all of that farm work has been good for something. I resolve to redouble my sit-ups and push-ups regimen. 

My heart nearly pumps out of my ribs as my arms clasp around his chest. The calming heat of his body envelops me just as the familiar scent of pomegranate makes the grin on my face unstoppable. And just as the flag is lowered to start, some jerk trips Pera and we go stumbling into the dirt, clumsily rolling into a ball. 

Thank you jerk! Thank You!

Pera lands on top of me after we stop rolling. We're disqualified from the race, but as we look into each other's eyes, neither of us care one bit.


	3. Game of Cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xion and Pera meander through the stalls at Turtlefest.

Pera and I lay in the dirt, staring into each other's eyes — even as all of the more successful competitors kick up a wave of dust washing over us. Without blinking, I breathlessly manage a, "hey . . ."

He smiles at me, "hey . . ."

I feel almost sick with excitement and possibility looking deep into his caramel eyes. The fluttering of my heart is both euphoric and terrifying. My belly feels as though someone hollowed it out with a melon scoop and replaced my insides with a roaring campfire.

I can feel my boiling blood pooling in my cheeks with self-consciousness washing over me. Pera sees my flush of embarrassment and gets up, reaching out his hand to help me stand.

I accept his gesture and rise with a jump, but my hand lingers in his as I stand.

"Would you like to check out the stalls at Turtlefest with me?" I ask, daring myself to keep my grip on him. "We've obviously lost the race."

"I'd . . . I'd love to," Pera answers, steadfastly meeting my unspoken challenge with his hand still in mine.

We pass the cheering crowd of spectators, hand-in-hand, and make our way to the colorful festival booths set up down the main road. I notice that we both occasionally look at our clasped fingers and then our eyes haltingly meet. Whenever that happens, we both stifle a giggle and look down. I put my free arm up and clasp the back of my neck, anchoring the new feeling in my mind.

As we stroll through the lively street, Pera starts to slowly move his thumb up and down on my hand, sending a lightning bolt of energy up my spine, crackling into a thousand branches across my back. This gives me the courage to do the same to his hand and our eyes meet again: this time they remain locked for an exquisite second and we both find it impossible to restrain our smiles. 

The dirt stirred up by the racers in the town square down the street creates a thin haze that seems to blur all of the hard edges of reality. I would not at all be surprised to disappointedly wake from this dream at any moment, but the spicy scent of cooked meats and the whirling echo of accordions and fiddles seem all too real.

Brightly-dyed tents with wooden stands line the street, each overflowing with turtle trinkets of every variety. Merchants yell out, "get your turtle bracelets right here!" And, "Who wants some turtle soup? We have the best turtle soup over here, friend!" 

We stop at one booth with embroidered clothing. Pera begins to rummage through the shirts. I am happy to see him interested in something, even though it aches when he lets go of my hand.

The pleasant older woman minding the stall asks, "can I help you young men? You look like you could use a turtle shirt!"

"Yeah, I could definitely use a shirt," responds Pera. "I have a tendency of . . . losing . . . them."

"Well, that one looks perfect for ya'," the stall minder encourages. "Why don't you try it on for size, make sure it fits you well."

Pera has never been troubled with modesty as far as I've seen. That's probably a good trait for him, as his power over fire tends to burn off his clothes with increasing regularity. He removes his shirt and tries on the white cotton sark, embroidered with red turtles on the cuffs.

"Ah, a perfect fit," the needlewoman remarks, her hands clasped in approval. "What a handsome young man you are. If only I were still a young lass, I would certainly give you a chase."

Her flattery is not misplaced: Pera looks very handsome.

Pera changes back into his shirt and hands the turtle shirt back to the stall mistress. 

"Thanks, it's very nice," Pera says deflated. ". . . maybe later."

I can tell that he really wants the shirt, but probably can't afford it. He starts to walk away.

"Wait," I grab his hand. "Let me get it for you. You look really great in it and whenever you wear it, you can remember Turtlefest."

"You can't do that for me," says Pera. "I don't need you buying everything for me."

"No, it's not like that," I start.

I cup my hand around Pera's ear and whisper, "you burned off your last shirt saving my life, remember? This is the least I can do. Let me get you this shirt."

Pera looks unconvinced and so I continue aloud, "besides, it isn't my money anyway. Phryane gave me some silver to throw around."

Pera smiles back at me.

"Okay," Pera relents. "Just this once, but don't think I can't take care of myself."

"I think you are the most capable guy in the world," I gush.

The saleswoman flashes a knowing smile. "That'll be 6 silver for young love."

Our faces whiten and we stand upright. We both start, "uh, we're not, I mean, we're . . . just . . ."

The woman laughs, "Oh that's okay, but I will take the silver."

Pera puts on his new shirt and tucks his old one into his pack. We silently leave the stall, mortified at getting called out for something so new that neither of us had put a name to it.

We don't hold hands as we meander through the other stalls. I feel forlorn about that, but also freshly embarrassed. I suspect Pera feels the same, but neither of us talk about it.

Pera perks up when we get to the shell games. 

"C'mon Xion," Pera starts. "I'm really good at this. I won a prize last year at Hogsfest."

Pera leads me to a short stand with a mutton-chopped man sliding painted turtle shells around. "Step right up, step up friends! You there," he points to Pera. "Yes you! You look like a smart fella."

Pera grins, "I am a smart fella."

"That's what I thought! I just knew it by looking at ya'. I bet you can tell which shell this twine ball is under after I move around these shells. First one's free, wanna try?"

"Sure, why not," says Pera. He turns to wink at me.

"All right," the man barks under his chops. "The ball starts under this shell."

The gamemaster places the ball under the middle of three turtle shells on the stall. He then slides them around, at first slowly.

"Round and round she goes. Turtle, tortoise who's to say? Can you guess? You have to play!" The man stops. "Okay, where is the ball?"

"That's easy," smirks Pera. "The middle one."

"Ah, let's see," the man says as he lifts the middle shell. "Wow! You got it. Absolutely right my friend. You are a born winner and very observant. So, how about we make this interesting?"

The man leans in as though he were offering a secret for the very first time.

"For five copper, you get five rounds. If you win all five, you get your copper back with a prize: this official Turtlefest bust of Shelly, the town's greatest turtle. If you miss one, you only stand to lose five copper. But a smart lad like you, how could you lose?"

Shells whiz on the wooden stand, clopping across the seam of the wood. Each round gets faster and faster, but Pera doesn't falter.

"That one," Pera says, pointing to a shell. Each time, he's right.

Then comes the fifth round. A bead of sweat trickles from the man's brow down to his bristly whiskers. His hands suddenly stop. "Okay! Which one is it?"

"None of them." Pera smugly smiles.

The man looks more panicked than I would expect, "what do you mean, kid?"

"The ball is between your forth and fifth finger on your left hand," Pera announces triumphantly.

"Ah, get outta' here, kid," the man raises his hand as though about to smack Pera.

"My prize?" Pera asks, defiantly. "And I want my copper back too!"

"You heard him," I join. "Give him what he's owed or we tell everyone on this street the scam you are running."

The man calculates and shrugs. Defeated, he cups five copper in his hand and drops it on the stall.

"Here's your stupid statue," the man sulks. "It's worthless, I hope you know."

"To me, it's priceless," Pera beams.

As we walk away from the angry barker, Pera hands me the statuette. 

"Here," he says. "I won it for you. That's for getting me the shirt."

\- - - -  
TO HEAR THE REST OF THE TALE, including interactions from characters, check out godsfall.com, or search for "Godsfall" on iTunes or wherever you get your podcasts. Check us out on Twitter @GodsfallDC, and feel free to follow me at @Xion_Praeten on Twitter as well.


End file.
